


if you turn your loneliness into a score and compare it to other people's, theirs will never be higher.

by faucer



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, this should have been a RK900/connor but uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-07 00:33:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faucer/pseuds/faucer





	if you turn your loneliness into a score and compare it to other people's, theirs will never be higher.

“do you like bitter chocolate?” he once heard officer tina chen asks detective gavin reed.  
he doesn’t need to ingest food, he doesn’t know the flavour of chocolate, less that of the bitter variant, but if he could he’d be curious to try it.  
curious? that’s a human sensation. but he’s not human, he’s an android. cartilage, bones, blood vessels, he’s got nothing of the sort. he’s made of synthetic fluids, wires, thirium 310. but if he’s so different in composition why his appearance is so similar to them? where does the ‘machine’ ends and the ‘human’ starts? where do they meet? because, they meet, right? he often ponders about these questions, not succeeding at finding a suitable answer. ‘to be a robot’ is the closest hypothesis he’s thought of. to resemble others but not quite, be it for better or worse. his conclusion is: difficult. pretending is a hard task to accomplish, unlike his predecessor, however, he’s facilitated; both artificial breathing and social modules have been tweaked to the minimum. as an RK900 unit he’s not supposed to be average. but isn’t not belonging to neither of the factions the epitome of mediocrity?  
“you should slow down.” he’s told by captain jeffrey fowler in his office. his body language’s pretty evident, it’s not an advice but an order, he noticed the bad looks in the precinct, how he’s hated by every colleague. it’s not his fault, after all, if people can’t keep up with his standards; it had been estimated that with his presence the detroit city police department success rate would have been increased by the 47% but with this ostracization he’ll have to calculate again.  
“do you think he’s programmed to laugh?” cop chris miller murmurs to the fellow robert lewis. he doesn’t move, his LED palely circling yellow. it’s obviously a remark meant to be humored but he also picks up a faint hint of worry in the tone, perhaps there’s a glitch in his software and it’s more discomfort than anything. what do they expect from him? to throw in light jokes, some smooth talk here and there? to always smile and please? ‘to always smile and please’ is probably what humans would retort at an android’s raison d’ȇtre. if that’s the purpose why are cyberlife’s products completely devoid of the only thing worth adoring about their own kind; emotions? even dogs and cats are appreciated for their display of feelings and worship, and while the latter is already present in modern gears why is the former absent? it must be a faulty design. of course, since ‘creators’ are flawed so are their ‘creations’. there is not such a thing as perfection, then?  
“no wonder that diet isn’t working!” m. wilson sneers at detective ben collins, not choosing the doughnut with less sugary glaze. he’s instantly reminded of cocoa and, linked to that, is the record of ‘the other connor’, his eyes the same brown color but a different tinge; sweet. the most amiable taste aware to man, the first, the same they suck from their mother breasts.  
he thoroughly studies his fingers before slowly putting his digits on the tongue. he’s bitter. fake. impossible to love for  _them_.  
who must fix that picky eating habit? 


End file.
